


if emily brontë wrote about blades of grass (and ophelia set it aflame)

by sunflower_8



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Depression, Discussion of Death, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Mental Instability, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide mentions, as a concept, minor mentions of sex, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:42:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24190759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflower_8/pseuds/sunflower_8
Summary: hinata wishes he lived in a reality like his, one where he can write himself into a novel and hold it up to the skies as he drowns, something komaeda probably thinks of to fight off the insomnia. hinata wonders if he’ll sleep any better if he just thinks of himself not being a person, just being an allusion in a story only ten people will read.it’s no more effective than melatonin.(or, hinata thinks that survivors deserve a less scattered mind, and komaeda is too shattered to give a damn.)
Relationships: Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito
Comments: 5
Kudos: 51





	if emily brontë wrote about blades of grass (and ophelia set it aflame)

they’re in a field next to an abandoned playground, forests skirting the edge of the terrain. if he looks a little farther, there’s a stream somewhere, where the two of them would laugh at how his shoes are soaked with water and he can’t jump the river. they laughed about this exactly once, because every other time, they stayed away from the stream.

hinata wishes it could have been marked off with caution tape saying something like 

_ CAUTION: YOU WILL FALL INTO STREAMS AND YOU WILL FALL DEEPER AND SOON, YOU WILL NOT WANT TO LEAVE THE STREAM AND WE CANNOT KEEP YOU HERE FOREVER. _

but he thinks that’s a bit impractical.

that doesn’t matter. they’re  _ here _ , now, and they ran out of conversation topics the second they breathed in the fresh air, so hinata is just  _ watching _ as komaeda tries to scratch himself with a blade of grass again.

it’s funny. ha, ha, ha. 

only the other would find that hysterical.

“careful,” his own voice sounds emotionless. flat. empty. “you cut easily,” he warns carelessly, as if the other hasn’t had sixteen years of scraped knees and bruised knuckles to learn what kinds of things can hurt him. but he wouldn’t stop doing those things, anyway. not without someone else there, telling him  _ this is bad and this is good, why don’t you understand that? _

(you don’t really have to have  _ morals  _ to have  _ depression.  _ it’s more like, everyone does, except komaeda, but hinata is an unreliable narrator and maybe depressed.)

hinata wishes he lived in a reality like his, one where he can write himself into a novel and hold it up to the skies as he drowns, something komaeda probably thinks of to fight off the insomnia. hinata wonders if he’ll sleep any better if he just  _ thinks  _ of himself not being a person, just being an allusion in a story only ten people will read.

it’s no more effective than melatonin.

komaeda moves his finger away from the blade of grass, smiling. “ah, yes. thank you, hinata-kun!” his smile lacks the energy - the life - it used to have. his lips are still up, the color of march, when he says, “i’m terribly forgetful,” and hinata puts his entire concept of control away from his fist, because he looks  _ so pretty _ when he’s talking about something as fucking awful as his death, and hinata just  _ wants  _ to forget for a single goddamn moment that the person he hates the most is going to die.

(he’s met dying people before. he’s talked to them, seen their guard fall and rise like the breaths in their chest until someday, it stops moving, and he’s talked to them about how fucking shitty it feels to die, and that felt  _ normal,  _

but with komaeda it’s always about how  _ wonderful  _ life has been and how much  _ better  _ it will be and it can’t get much better if komaeda isn’t here, right?)

_ ninety-five theses of hinata hajime, here to oppose the roman catholic church, except the church is built upon the ideals of komaeda nagito, who thinks that he will find god if he tries to kill himself while incorporating the four core qualities of a good christian male: sacrifice, self-hatred, sabotage, and schesis. we think he will try crucifixion next, but check theses 19 for that. _

hinata feels a chlorophyll-stained fingertip brush his face, and he closes his eyes as komaeda whispers something like  _ eyelash, _ except his hands never really move away from hinata’s face so they’re just sitting there, and all of the words komaeda doesn’t say reaches his ears while the small gasps of air he has to take before saying a simple sentence just feel like the wind. and he fucking hates the wind because why did it have to take him  _ here _ ?

why does he  _ always have  _ to survive?

isn’t survival just a state of mind?

( _ he wishes his beloved were dead _ , by w.b yeats)

komaeda is really close, and he asks softly if hinata is okay, but hinata feels like he’s  _ drowning _ , no poetry book in hand. and so he makes a dumbass decision and kisses komaeda and

okay, it’s not the first time

the two have met lips

like  _ this. _

but the last time hinata remembers doing it, komaeda’s lips were soft and warm and he started  _ crying  _ and hinata was shushing him and reassuring him with every press until they were laying together in the fields of grass that didn’t sting quite yet, and it was  _ okay _ , but  _ now,  _ hinata can’t think past the fact that it really sucks to kiss someone with such chapped lips, and that komaeda isn’t moving his while hinata is going too fast, running on the adrenaline of the other still being alive, except every kiss is just taking that away,

and they’re lying in the field of grass that fucking  _ stings  _ and  _ burns _ and it takes all that’s in hinata not to rip komaeda’s clothes off because they’re sixteen but komaeda is probably going to be in a hospital in a couple of weeks and hinata only ever wanted to have sex with  _ him _ .

and god, that’s so fucking stupid. it’s so insanely stupid but it’s the stupid things that come to mind when someone is dying. he’s never looked a dead person in the eye and said  _ why did you leave me _ ? it’s always something like  _ if i had bought you orchestra tickets, would you go?  _ and there are a thousand others hinata keeps in a spiral journal, hoping he can ask komaeda, and none of those questions are “are you okay?” even if that’s the exact thing komaeda is asking  _ right now. _

he shakes his head.

komaeda smiles. kisses his temple. twists a strand of grass out. “be careful, hinata-kun,” he says selfishly. “the blades of grass hurt.”

“shut the fuck up!” he shouts, ripping grass out of the ground in handfuls. “i fucking hate metaphors!”

“then what are we, hajime?” he asks.

he does not reply.

(scene ii - act iv

_ [HINATA and KOMAEDA sit in KOMAEDA’s room. KOMAEDA laughs as HINATA tries to look at his finger, blood bubbling on the tip.] _

KOMAEDA: why do you suffer, hinata-kun?

HINATA: …

KOMAEDA: it’s okay to be afraid.

HINATA: have you written me into a play already?

KOMAEDA: …

HINATA: shakespearean. your type. only sonnet 130 though. but not the couplet.

KOMAEDA: and what if i have?

HINATA: can i write you into my memory?

KOMAEDA: memories and shakespearean tragedies are different, you know this. you’re smart. we’ve read macbeth a hundred times before.

HINATA: they all have the same fucking end.

KOMAEDA: that’s your opinion, hinata-kun, and i have mine.

HINATA: yeah, and who’s the one who has to fucking live with it?

_ [fin.] _

…

aren't you going to die, too?)

**Author's Note:**

> so. this was a vent.
> 
> uh. it's like. i mean i think this is actually okay. but i didn't really edit it. i'm just /sad/ haha. 
> 
> what if this was the best my writing got. i mean. that would be fine i guess it'd just be fucking odd. but. eh. isn't everything?
> 
> that's it. i. i hope you liked it. 
> 
> stay safe. i'll post something, like, this weekend. maybe. idk.


End file.
